Stillpoint

That moment when, while all the world is swirling around you, you are slowed, stilled, into a slower place - a place in which something happens that changes you for anything that follows.

Could I tell you the story behind this painting? I began this painting from my studio corner at The Loft before I retired as Creative Director. I finished it at home (seen here.)

But here's the story:

I think I had a vision, but I don’t know.

First off, I think in pictures.  I have to translate my thoughts into words.  So to say I had a vision is an “iffy” thing since I kind of live that way.  But this was different.  It came out of nowhere.  I was still aware of my surroundings, but I was in another place.  Since I can’t ask Isaiah or the others in the Bible what their visions were like, I simply couldn’t say if this qualifies.  But if I ever really did have a vision, I guess this would be it.

One Sunday a few years ago, I was walking down the center aisle of our church to go find seats for our family.  About midway to the front, I was suddenly in another place.  I was walking down a wooden dock.  On the right hand side of the dock were two smaller sized boats.  

The first boat was a white boat with a red stripe.  It was a good bit bigger than my personal boat which was tied just in front of it.  

My boat was a sweet little white boat with a blue stripe.  It was a dear friend to me.  We were broken in together and had weathered life together.  It was the boat Father God had given me years before.  I loved it dearly.  Everything was muscle memory and heart sure with my dear craft.

But beside me was this bigger boat with the red stripe.  Jesus was sitting in the boat comfortably.  He had on jeans and a white button down shirt that He wore untucked with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.  I couldn’t see His face, but his voice I knew well.  I could feel him smile.  “Hi?” I said.  

Jesus smiled.  You can feel his smile in His voice.  

“I have something for you,” he said.

He let that sink in a minute.  I felt like I should be getting into my boat and out onto the water, but here he was in this red striped, new, bigger boat.  It was bigger than my little boat and in it, there was room for more than one person.  It felt a little more “showy” somehow with that red stripe and shiny new paint.

“I’d like to give you this boat.”

What?  My thoughts scattered all over the place.

I felt extremely awkward and confused.  It really was time to get out into the water and here he was saying this unexpected thing.  Uncomfortable, even.

“Um.  Thank you, but I really am fine with my little boat.  I adore the blue stripe.  You painted it my favorite color!”

“I know, but I want you to have this one,” he responded peacefully.

“But you and I have such history in my little boat,” I lamely defended.

Could he really want me to have this bigger boat?  I was scared of it.  Scared that pride would sink me if I went out in it. 

“Get in,” he invited.

I didn’t know if I wanted to go through it again.  Learning how to navigate.  I’d finally resigned myself to being small and mostly invisible.  I’d become thankful in that boat.

“No really.  I’m ok.  I love my boat.  We’ve gone through so many storms.  This boat is all I could ever ask for.  It’s been perfect for me.  We’ve painted it together.  Seen so much in it,” I begged.  

But there I stood.  Jesus waited until I ran out of excuses.

“I know,” he replied with understanding but a firm kindness that was leading me into an emotional corner.

“I’d really like for you to be in this boat now.”  He knew how painful it would be for me to walk away from my sweet little craft that had become like second skin to me.  And red?  Why did the stripe have to be red? Red has never been my favorite color.

All my fears came spewing out of my mouth.  I wasn’t trying to be disrespectful.  But I’d be so trained to be self deprecating.  Wasn’t that more holy than happy confidence?

“Lord, you’re so kind and I’m overwhelmed that you’d want me to have this bigger boat.  But isn’t it too big for me?”

“I really want you to have this boat, Lydia.  Hop in with me,” he invited.  There was no shame casting coming from him - at all.  He was confident I’d say yes.  He was peacefully patient.

I offered my last excuse.  I realized it was just fear that kept me from getting in that bigger boat with him.  But my heart was aching to sit beside him, even if it meant giving up all I knew and held dear.

“But I’ve learned to navigate my little boat.  I don’t think I can drive a big boat like this.”

He answered with a grin and even a look of what - was that mischief? teasing in his eyes?

“I thought I might drive this time.”

I laughed.  And then it was over.  But I knew my answer was yes.

I was back in the church aisle. There was no time warping tunnel of light.  It was as if I’d never left.  But I had. My heart and spirit had been encountered.  I was forever different from that moment.

—--------

So as I prepared to exit The Loft, to start a new season of painting from home and simplifying my schedule and life to just one email, one art pursuit, one social media account; the whole thing came back to me.  This boat isn’t exactly how I saw it, but it carries the meaning.  The red?  It carries the weight of the blood of Christ and the power behind it.  The water on the right hand side runs in a different direction.  I have a choice.  I filled the section of the blue water with scriptures about water, dictionary definitions referring to water, hand written words where I joined with Peter saying, “Lord if this is really you, bid me to come to you on the water.”

We tend to judge Peter for sinking, but Jesus never let him go.  He taught him why he sank with a rabbinical style of asking questions.  And then he trusted Peter to build his church, even after Peter denied Jesus - more than once.

I wanted to remember all this while I painted.  I’m happy with this piece.  

I’m happy with this peace.

I have no idea where this new boat is headed, but that’s ok.  I’m sitting beside Jesus and he’s driving.

love,

©2025 Lydia D Crouch